Ghostwalker 08 - Street Game

the many photographs they’d studied on Doomsday, Jarold Carlyle; two of the most wanted men in a number of countries. Their boss, Armstice, was nowhere to be seen. Drinks and a deck of playing cards sat near their hands.
    Although they were relaxed, slouched in their seats and obviously bored, Koit continually stroked his gun, a Luger 9mm Parabellum. His fingers lingered almost lovingly along the barrel. Kane and Mack exchanged a long look.
    Carlyle picked up the deck of cards and shuffled. Mack caught bits and pieces of the conversation. The two men were speaking rapidly in English, but Carlyle had a heavy accent. The words were punctuated with a great deal of laughter. They seemed to find it very amusing that a party was being held while right under the noses of the Americans they were holding hostages. The two terrorists took turns toasting the superpowers and snickering at the Marine guards.
    “It won’t be long,” Koit said. “Another few hours to clear the grounds and get the guards settled down. We want the kids dying in front of the cameras. Blaine will call in the reporters and let us know right when to send them out. I think the little dinner party is only going to add to the condemnation. We should get paid more money.”

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    “You better hope Armstice keeps those kids alive.” Carlyle gave a worried glance down the narrowing corridor. “He’s a bloodthirsty son of a bitch.”
    “I went to school with him,” Koit said. “I can’t tell you how many little old ladies’
    cats and dogs he sliced up and left on doorsteps—until he graduated to killing the little old ladies.” He laughed at his own joke.
    Mack watched Koit’s long fingers stroking the Luger. He nudged Kane. They’d have to shoot together. Both men were armed. All Koit had to do was lift the gun and fire. His hand was steady as he shot the dart into Koit’s neck. Koit slumped forward onto the table; the hand with the Luger slid in slow motion from his chair to the floor.
    Mack swore as the gun clattered against the chair frame. He sank into a crouch, the gun in his hand, sweeping the area down the tunnel, every cell alert.
    Kane took Carlyle at nearly the same instant. The man simply fell forward, the cards scattering across the table as he went limp. He moved forward while Mack covered him, removing the guns and securing the darts.
    Jacob, you’re up again, Mack said. We’re running out of time. We’ve got to stay on schedule.
    Yeah, I’ll just yank those bombs right off, Top, Jacob replied.
    Mack shot him a look and Jacob sobered, moving forward quickly and silently.
    Mack and Kane moved up into the narrow opening that led to a crawl space behind the makeshift kitchen. Jaimie. I need you to tell us what we’re facing while Jacob disarms the bombs.
    There’s something else here, boss, Jacob said. I found a switch. A remote. There’s another bomb somewhere. Koit’s got it right in his front jacket pocket.
    Mack swore. Come on, Jaimie. There must be another guard. And Armstice. Find them.
    Jaimie skirted around the two downed terrorists, ignoring the fact that small beads of sweat had formed on Jacob’s forehead. She’d taken apart dummy bombs before. It wasn’t quite the same thing as working with the real deal.
    Concentrate, baby, don’t think about what he’s doing. And don’t think about the children. Just find me those men.
    Mack never called her “baby” during a mission. He was always very professional.
    She glanced at his face. He looked at her with worried eyes. She forced a smile.
    I’m fine, Mack. Give me a minute. So far, Mack’s energy had kept the pain at bay, but they were in the lion’s den and the violent energy surrounding the terrorists ripped and stabbed at her, the sensation very much like ice picks stabbing into her skull.
    She took a deep breath, careful to keep her trembling hands behind her back where Mack’s watchful eyes couldn’t see. Javier was behind them, but he was facing 268

    back the way they’d come, watching their backtrail. Jacob kept his head down, intent on disarming the vest of explosives wrapped around Carlyle. Jaimie sent her energy rushing down the narrow tunnel, into the darkness.
    As if she’d summoned the devil, energy rushed at her, forceful, ugly, extremely violent and evil. It punched through the shield Mack created around her, tearing at the fabric of her energy, shredding it. With it came fear. Pain. Terror. Rage. Both feminine and masculine and very